The Butterfly Code (15 page)

A
s soon as
I’m alone, I call Dad.

"Please," I beg him. "You’ve got to take me home."

"I don’t know, Peanut."

"I’m fine. If anything happens, you could just take me to the hospital, couldn’t you?"

There’s a heavy pause.

"All right. Tomorrow night after I take care of Blaze, I’ll come for you."

"You can’t let them know."

"Don’t worry. We’ll do it quiet-like."

"I love you, Dad."

It takes a long time for me to fall asleep. When I do, I slip into a nightmare. I’m in the apple orchard, crouched behind Iron-fist’s black SUV. I know he sees me. Horrified, I play dead. His feet crunch through the grass toward me. He kneels and puts his face up to mine to see if I’m breathing.

I can’t hold my breath. I need air. I suck in a mouthful.

He seizes me and shakes me hard.

"
I knew you were alive
," he shouts.

I wake in a sweat. My eyes fly open and I see I’m not alone. Victoria’s lean silhouette is parked near the window. She opens the heavy drapes. Dawn light filters onto my face. I squint against the brightness.

"You look like hell," Victoria informs me.

"Thanks."

She shrugs one narrow shoulder. "Just saying."

I groan. "I had the worst dream."

"Let me guess. Ian turned into a dragon and burned up the piano."

I laugh. "No."

"Too bad. He’d be kind of cute with a snout." She goes to a stainless-steel cart just inside the door and selects a syringe, several blood-collection tubes, and some packets of alcohol swabs. Needles still make me woozy. Better to stare out the window and watch the dawn’s bruised clouds scud by.

"Did you know the whole town is scared of this place?" I ask.

"Are they?" She peels off the syringe wrapper. "No one’s ever told me that."

"You probably don’t talk to them."

"That’s not fair. I go dancing at the Zenith Club. As I recall, you saw me there."

"Should people be worried?" I ask. "Is it possible someone could get infected by what you’re studying?"

She wipes her right hand on one leather-clad thigh. "Anything is possible. Not in the way you’re thinking, though."

"What is it you’re researching?"

"It’s not something I’m at liberty to talk about."

My frustration makes me bolder. "Why have I never seen anyone besides you, Ian, Edward, Lucy, and Hunter? How can this be a research lab with no staff here?"

"There are others."

"How many?"

Her stony eyes level me with a long, piercing gaze. There’s a wall between us, between me and everyone here.

"Thirteen." She says it casually.

There’s nothing casual about it, though. The air is thick with tension, and it’s as though a brick has tumbled clear. I press on, urgent to tear out another.

"Thirteen people? They must be really quiet."

Victoria smirks. "Yes, well, they’re not here at the moment."

"Where are they?"

She raises one brow and inserts the needle. "As it happens, we have a sister facility. Overseas."

I wince away from the thrusting syringe that’s lodged deep in my vein. "Overseas? Whereabouts?"

She switches the full vial of blood for an empty one. "Switzerland, actually."

Switzerland?
I feel suddenly dizzy. Switzerland is where my mother died. I stare at Victoria, whose gaze is trained on my arm.

"Have you been there?" she asks. Her voice is nonchalant as she extracts the needle. Still, there’s a curious quality to her doe eyes when they meet mine.

My heart is pounding. "Once," I manage through dry lips.

"When?"

"I was little."

She goes to the stainless-steel cart. "Never again?"

"No." My tongue is parched. "Never again."

Does she know what happened to us in Switzerland? She couldn’t. I was only five. Victoria could have been at most eight or nine years old. And it was barely in the news. The authorities said we’d suffered an unfortunate accident on the winding roads. They insisted my mother’s driving was at fault, even though I knew better.

A man clears his throat.

I catch sight of Ian in the doorway. Fear makes my stomach lurch.

"Giving away classified information?" he drawls. "Aren’t we chummy."

"Don’t be a bore, Ian. It doesn’t suit you." Victoria’s impenetrable expression has snapped firmly back into place. "Neither does oozing around as though I can’t hear you."

He crosses his arms over his broad chest.

"Toddle off and leave us to it, darling."

"You’re infuriating, you know that?"

"It’s why you adore me." It’s the lighthearted armor she uses to fend off the world.

Ian snorts and leaves.

My heart is still pounding at the mention of Switzerland. I look up to see that everything about Victoria is now clammed up tight. Her shoulders, her tense fingers. Her clipped movements as she clears away my blood work and wheels the metal cart toward the door.

There, she pauses.

When she turns, her eyes are different. There’s caring. Real, honest caring.

"Are you all right?" she asks.

"I’m fine," I reply quickly.

Her eyes go to her hands, which are clutched around the cart handle. I sense she’s about to tell me something. Her mouth opens. Words seem to hang there. Finally, all that comes out is, "Okay. Good."

Her heels echo into the distance and disappear.

Maybe it was the concern in her tightly drawn brows. Maybe it was her unexpected kindness. Whatever the cause, I can’t hold the childhood memory at bay a second longer.

It slides over me, tasting of tears and blood.

Mountains and pine trees. The car, with Mom behind the wheel. Me riding in the front like a big girl. Our happy singsong dying on her lips. The paleness of her cheeks when she looks in the rearview mirror.

"Mommy? What’s the matter?" I hear my five-year-old voice ask.

"Make sure your seat belt’s fastened, okay, honey?"

I press on the metal buckle, doing as she asks. Pine trees whip by my window. So fast they start to blur. The high alpine road is narrow and twisty with hairpin turns. There are no guardrails. Far below, a river cascades over jagged rocks.

"Mommy, you’re going too fast!"

I see a car move up behind us in the side mirror. It’s almost attached to our bumper.

I’m frightened.

Mommy’s eyes go to the rearview mirror. Her usually comforting voice makes a tiny, "Oh!"

And then our car does the unthinkable. It tumbles sideways, right over the edge, and I’m screaming and the river is coming closer, and we’re flipping in slow motion, and somehow Mommy rips off her seat belt with the strength only a mother could have and throws her body over mine, and we slam and roll, slam and roll.

The sound. The awful sound.

Explosions of shattering glass.

Squeals of grinding metal.

The blaring of a horn. Our horn.

The jarring halt.

The warm wetness of Mommy against me.

Long stunned moments pass.

I start to cry.

"My baby," she whispers, her voice so weak I’m frightened. "I got you. You’re okay. You’re okay. I love you so much."

I put my small hands on her cheeks. "Mommy, are you hurt?" I’m scared for her.

She doesn’t answer.

My heart starts beating fast like a bunny rabbit’s. Pitter-pattering out of control.

Something clinks and pings off the side of the car. Then come several pairs of footsteps crunching and sliding down the sheer embankment toward us.

"Shh," Mommy tells me, her voice thick with pain and fear. "Quiet as a mouse."

I nod.

She shifts over me so I’m hidden completely. There’s a volley of kicking and angry voices as the crushed trunk of our car is wrestled open. I hear our suitcases being dragged out. Men wedge open the back door. From my position, I can just peer between the driver and passenger seats. Mommy’s purse is lying on the backseat. A muscular hand comes into view and picks it up. The image is burned into my mind. Those thick pale fingers. The tattooed initials on his forearm that read WB.

He bends over us and I hear the glove box open. His cologne makes me want to gag.

"I wish you’d behaved more professionally, Julia," he says.

He knows Mommy. He called her by name. Why isn’t he helping us?

"Move out," he tells the others.

They’re leaving us trapped in the ravine, in the wreckage. Mommy keeps silent until their scrabbling footsteps have died away.

I smell smoke.

"Honey, I need you to be brave. Can you be brave for me?"

I nod. Anything, anything. "Yes," I say, clinging more tightly to her.

Mommy coughs. "You need to get out of the car, okay? You need to crawl out the back."

"No!"

"I’m coming right after. I’ll be right with you." With great effort, she rolls sideways. Blood runs from her scalp, down her soft cheeks.

"Please, hurry," she whispers.

"You’re hurt, Mommy," I sob. Her arms and legs bleed from awful red gashes. She’s turning pale.

Smoke billows over us, making us cough.

"Hurry!" She lifts me, and we both slip over into the backseat. She’s strong; she’s going to be all right. "I love you," she tells me, kissing my forehead. "I’ll always be with you, Aeris. Never forget that." She thrusts me out the back door, hard.

At the same time, the car explodes. A ball of fire roars skyward. I’m thrown across the hillside. I hit rocks.

The world goes black.

A man is holding me in his arms and walking fast. I cry out and struggle against his flannel-clad chest.

He soothes me with gentle words. "It’s safe, you’re safe."

"Mommy! Help my mommy!"

He holds me closer. "She’s with angels now."

"No!" I scream, sobbing and fighting hard.

He lets me punch and kick him until I’m exhausted, never letting me go. His neck is bristly, and finally I burrow into it, crying until his warm skin is drenched with my tears. We walk for hours like that, his big arms cradling me tight. It’s pitch black and he never stumbles once, not once down the rocky, steep mountain.

I must have fallen asleep. When I wake, I’m in a bustling police station. A uniformed man with a big mustache tells me I’m safe.

"You’re lucky that hiker found you," he tells me. "He carried you more than thirty miles."

Lucky? How can I be lucky when Mommy’s gone?

Still, I wish I could have thanked him.

Now, in this old house, in this room, I cry like I did then. I cry for the man who saved me, who comforted me, who left before I got to see his face. I cry for the little girl who lost her mommy. But most of all, I cry for my mother.

I sob knowing I couldn’t get her out of the car. I sob until I’m choking. I drown in the unbearable truth that she died for me.
Mom, I didn’t want you to go.

My throat is swollen tight and my chest aches, and still I cry some more.

I
wake
to the sound of someone in my room.

My eyelids are swollen as I glance up and start in surprise. "Dad."

He raises a finger to his lips and bends to lift me. One arm under my legs, the other under my shoulder blades, he moves me swiftly to the wheelchair. Moonlight streaks the windowsill.

"Hold tight."

I do, gripping the chair as he whisks me down the long, brilliantly lit corridors. I feel terrible, escaping with no good-bye. Or thanks. They saved my life. I’m grateful. Yet I have to go. We hurry past half-open doors as nervousness ping-pongs in my chest.

"Almost there," Dad says.

Just let us get out undetected. I can see the front door. My fingers turn clammy.

Then we’re on the broad gravel drive. Damp, misty air creeps under my fiberglass casts. The breeze snatches at the hem of my nightgown as we hurry to Dad’s Range Rover, which is parked under a clump of pine trees. He helps me into the front passenger seat.

Then I remember something.

"My meds," I blurt out. "I forgot."

"Where are they?"

"In my room, on the side table. Three bottles."

"I’ll be back."

The moon emerges from beneath a cloud, casting eerie yellow light over the dashboard.
Hurry, please hurry.
I hear footsteps and wrench around.

"Got them." He hops in the driver’s seat.

"Good work, Dad."

He puts the car in drive, and the big house shrinks behind us. Guilt twists through me. I’m sure Ian will be glad to hear I’ve left, though. And now Hunter can come back because I won’t be here to bother him.

"I missed you, Peanut," Dad says.

"Thanks for coming to get me. I really missed you, too, Dad."

We’re nearing the barn, which gleams silver in the darkness. Its doors are fastened shut. Blaze’s presence pulls at me. She’ll be bigger now. I want to wrap my arms around her neck and kiss the white star on her forehead and apologize because I have abandoned her these past weeks.

Would she even know me?

I’m silent as we pass the gravel lot. Here and there, tires have dug permanent tracks in its surface. Are any of them mine, remnants from the day I snuck into the barn? The day Hunter caught me from behind, engulfed me in his arms, and pulled me close to ask who the hell was trespassing on his property.

He’d meant it to be threatening. It sure hadn’t felt that way. Not even with his warm breath against my ear and his fingers tight under my jaw.

I’m such a fool. I need to stop thinking of him. But I can’t stop. It’s not like switching off a light. Feelings don’t work that way. They linger in the chasms of the heart, welling up without warning, reminding us of the one who was lost.

Dad glances over as he downshifts to take the corner. "How are you doing?"

"Glad to be coming home."

"That makes two of us. Sammy will be excited."

I smile.

Fog swirls in from the left field, heavy as cream in water. The mist catches the front grille and billows around us, locking us in a veil of obscuring white. Dad switches on his high beams. The bright lights create blinding patterns and only manage to tunnel a few feet. Out of nowhere, the gate appears.

Dad brakes and stops ten feet short.

I stare at the place where I was crushed.

The steel bars glide open and we pass through. There’s no sign of damage, no remnants of awful gore. It’s like nothing happened here. I press my face to the window as they close, watch them gleaming in the Range Rover’s taillights.

Then I see it.

The
Phoenix Research Lab
plaque in the middle, the one with the dog—the black Labrador retriever—chasing the pointed-winged bird. It’s been cracked in two.

T
he fog turns
to misting rain. Dad switches on the wipers and follows the twisty road.

"Has there been any news about the investigation?" I ask.

"Not enough."

"Did they catch the bad guys?"

"Not that I’ve heard. They fled the scene way before the police showed up."

"So there weren’t even—like, dead guys?"

"Dead guys? No."

I try to recall that stormy night. I still don’t get how Hunter reached me so fast. A vision flashes into my mind—of Hunter lifting the ATV into the air and throwing it at my attackers. But that’s ridiculous. No one can lift an eight-hundred-pound vehicle. I can almost smell my blood and hear the shouts around me. Had there been a fight? Had Ian been there, too? And Victoria? I remember a woman’s shrill scream before the world went black. Maybe it had been mine. The harder I try to focus on the vision, the faster it slips away.

"They won’t come after us again, will they?" I ask.

"I don’t see why they would. We have nothing they want."

"No. You’re right. We don’t." Vague fear winds around my ribs and cinches tight.

"I’ve installed a security system in the house. Not that we need it. I just don’t want you coming home to any more surprises."

I nod as unease sizzles through me. Iron-fist is out there, and who knows what he wants. The damp chill claims my feet. We fall silent awhile, Dad focusing on the twisty, fog-obscured road.

"Dad, can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"I heard you and Hunter talking about a woman. Who was she?"

"A woman? No." He keeps his eyes carefully on the road.

"I heard you. You told him you wanted answers about her. That’s what you said."

He’s silent so long maybe he hopes I’ll drop the subject. He’d said a woman. Not Mom, though, because Hunter’s too young to have known her. So then, who? The mist blurs the windshield and the wipers slam it away. Over and over. Mist, slam, mist, slam.

"Dad?"

"I’m sorry, Peanut. Whatever you think you heard, you heard wrong."

I stare at him, confused.

He wouldn’t lie, would he? Is it possible he’s telling the truth? As if to reassure me, he reaches out and squeezes my left hand. I can feel how much he loves me, how much he was worried about me. It’s good to have his big hand around mine. Maybe he’s right. I’ve been confused a lot, lately. Maybe this is just one more thing.

W
hen Dad carries
me through the door, Sammy is all dancing legs and earnest yips. He scrambles after us through Dad-land, past softly gleaming leather and wood scented with lemon polish, and the piano, which I’ll get to play whenever I want.

In the guest bedroom Dad sets me down and Sammy bumps into me in all his furry earnestness.

"Oof." I wrap my arms awkwardly around his quivering neck. His fervent affection, despite my abandoning his broken body on the back lawn, makes tears prick at my eyes. "I’m so glad you made it, buddy."

Dad helps me under the covers. My eyes close, and my head drops back. The last thing to cross my mind before dozing off is Victoria and Edward’s reaction when they find me gone.

I should’ve left a note. A thank you, at least.

Turns out I’m no better than Hunter.

A
commotion
at the front door wakes me. Dad’s words are drowned out by a woman’s high, commanding voice.

"Where is she?"

My eyes fly open. Wan morning light bleeds through the half-shuttered window. Victoria appears in my doorway, surreal and striking in this house. She’s wearing a bloodred leather ensemble: a fitted jacket, skintight skirt, and tall boots. Her luminous face is as scary-beautiful as ever.

"Hi," I manage.

Her eyes sear into me. There’s an awkward beat.

Finally, I say, "You could wear a Red Cross hat with that."

"A Red Cross hat."

"Yes. A leather one."

"Do you have any idea of the scare you gave us?"

"I figured it was better this way."

"You’re coming back with me. Now."

I pluck at the covers. "No, Victoria, I’m not."

She stalks to my bedside and sorts through my medication. "Did you take the red pills?"

"Not yet."

She shakes two out and thrusts a half-empty glass of water into my hand. I swallow them with the tepid liquid.

"You can’t stay here. It’s too dangerous."

"I’m perfectly safe, and there’s no way you’re dragging me back."

She rubs her face and I know she’s worried. I sense it, faintly, stirring through me.

"I’m sorry. I should have left a note. I’ve been a huge burden on you guys, and you’ve done enough. I’m really all right now. And I’m hugely grateful. If I haven’t told you that, I am. I mean it."

Arms crossed, Victoria studies the bookshelf. It’s vacant apart from my violin case. She touches the clasp. Emotions jangle beneath her hard surface. It’s clear my words have touched her, but not enough to ease the jarring pings of worry. So the linked effect has returned. Not that I’m about to tell her.

She paces to the dresser and picks up what appears to be a letter in a heavy envelope.

"I’m surprised you’re getting mail here. This isn’t your actual residence, is it?"

"Let me see that."

She hands it over, and then it all comes rushing back to me. My application to the music company. All else is forgotten as I tear it open.

"I can’t believe this! They want me to come for an interview."

"Who?"

"A movie sound track company." I glance at the address again. "In Hartford."

Victoria’s smooth brow creases. "How did they find you?"

"I was recommended. I applied."

"When do they want you there?"

I’m so dizzy with excitement that for a moment I’d forgotten my injuries. "Two weeks."

"That’s not going to work."

She’s right. Still, I say, "Are you out of your mind? No way am I turning this down."

"Tell them you’ll come later. In a few months."

"It doesn’t work that way. They won’t wait. It’s everything I’ve ever dreamed of. I have to go." And I realize now it’s the truth. I’m going, casts and all.

"Let me see that." She snatches the letter with her willowy fingers and studies it. I wait for her reply, but she sets it down as if the subject never came up.

"You need to come back to the PRL. I can’t keep you safe here."

"I’m not coming back, Victoria. I’m sorry."

She walks nervously to the window, twitches the blinds, and peers out.

"I’m right down the road. I’ll call you if I get sick, promise."

"I don’t know how to convince you. You’re not my prisoner. Please, stay inside, take your meds, focus on getting better. I’m trusting you."

"Tell Edward and Lucy good-bye?"

She gives me a curt nod. As I hear her give Dad the wheelchair we abandoned in the PRL’s front hall, it dawns on me that although she came, she knew I wouldn’t be going back.

W
hen she’s gone
, I make Dad sit next to me on the four-poster bed.

"I want to know about Mom."

"What can I tell you?" His black beard has grown back out, half hiding his face.

Dad and I never talk about her, so it’s a struggle. It comes out in a rush. "I was thinking about the accident in Switzerland. Victoria told me the PRL has a branch there. I know this is a long shot, but is there any chance Mom was connected to the research lab?"

He stiffens.

"Have you looked into it?"

"She kept her work from me, Peanut. You know we weren’t living together."

Before I can stop myself, I say, "Was I a mistake? Didn’t you love each other?"

"Of course we loved each other." He’s gruff. "But she had a lot going on, and we agreed it would be better to live separately. Until she was ready."

I feel hurt and anger rising. I’ve kept it down too long. "What was more important than us being a family?"

"There are times when life isn’t that simple."

My anger turns white hot. Everyone has been putting me off and putting me off, and I won’t stand for it.

"What aren’t you telling me, Dad? I’m not going to sit here and listen to you claim you’re in the dark. Because you’re not. You’re hiding things from me. You have no right. She was
my
mom. She would have wanted me to know, and I resent you trying to protect me! I won’t be shoved away any longer. What happened to her belongs just as much to me as it does to you. More! I was the one who lived with her. I was the one she kept by her side. I was in the car, not you. I was with her when she died."

Dad stands abruptly. It’s clear I’ve wounded him. How could I suggest Mom loved me more when I know how heartbroken he was over her death? He’s never loved another woman since. But I’m furious. Beyond furious.

"Your mother loved you more than anything. And if I ever learn the truth of what happened to you two that day, I promise you’ll be the first to know."

I hear his brutal honesty. Am I being paranoid, believing he has answers that don’t exist?

"Wait, Dad?" He’s already angry, so what’s one more thing? "I went through your desk. I found—"

"You went through my desk? Really, Aeris? Why?"

"I found Mom’s photo album." My voice breaks. "Did you ever think I might want to see those pictures, too?"

He rubs his head and blows out a sigh. "I shouldn’t have kept it in there. You’re right. You should have it. I’ll bring it to you."

D
ad’s at the shop
. I sit near the piano in the wheelchair and open the photo album. My forehead scrunches as I study the one of Mom and her dog. An odd sensation tugs at me, as though a message is staring up at me, yet I can’t quite puzzle it out.

Then my breath catches. I examine the black Labrador in the crate, looking cute in his red bandanna. It’s a lot like the dog on the PRL plaque. The one on the front gate. The logo. The dog chasing a phoenix. A Labrador dog, with a bandanna around its neck.